


prayers to god were met with indifference

by thegracious



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Contractually obligated to inform readers that there is (some) angst, Gen, Okay i lied there is (lots of) angst, but am only writing this for schmoopy kitty cuddles for the elrics, but in my defence it showed up too late for me to notice, daemon AU, his dark materials fusion, literally just wrote this so i could give Armstrong a corgi daemon, no shipping (yet), outsider pov
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-16
Updated: 2019-10-16
Packaged: 2020-12-16 21:51:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21043346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegracious/pseuds/thegracious
Summary: (so i wrote my own deliverance)The body and soul are connected to one another by the mind. When Edward went back to the Gate of Truth to retrieve his brother’s consciousness, he left behind more than just an arm and a leg.





	prayers to god were met with indifference

**Author's Note:**

> This fic pulls lore from His Dark Materials, but you don’t need to read it to make sense of the plot! I’ll try to make sure the story itself can explain the lore.

There are many things frightening about the Elric brothers, and Havoc’s man enough to admit to the fear. There’s the obvious: alchemy prodigies, the both of them; the fact that Alphonse is seven feet tall and constantly in armour, Edward’s ridiculously powerful automail arm and leg. Then there’s the less obvious. The fact that Mustang — the Flame Alchemist himself! — seems to defer to Ed when it comes to alchemy theory. The fact that the Führer is watching their little rag-tag unit, and all because of a twelve year-old who managed to get a State Alchemist license. The fact that Ed’s fifteen now and his daemon still hasn’t settled, and the bodies Miela chooses are increasingly fitting into a pattern: they’re all predators. 

Then there’s the observations Jean tries very, very hard to keep to himself: that Al’s armour sounds hollow, and that he’s never seen Al’s daemon. 

Breda can say everything he wants about people with horse daemons being easily spooked. Something isn’t right with the chief and his brother, but that isn’t any of Jean’s business. 

~

Watching Fullmetal at a debriefing with Colonel Mustang is always a delight for Mustang’s team. There’d be the colonel, determined to be at his smuggest and most condescending, his daemon perched delicately on his desk and fastidiously grooming her pale cream fur; and Edward, indignant, incensed, all bluster and threats to the colonel’s personal safety — but depending on the damage and the degree of Fullmetal’s actual responsibility, Miela would either turn into a tiny kitten trying to play with the colonel’s daemon Rhiannon, or turn into an even tinier animal and scramble to hide in Alphonse’s armour. 

Either way, they’ve gotten used to Fullmetal being all bark and no bite. But that changed with Shou Tucker. 

Jean had never liked Tucker; there was something slimy about that guy, and Severine never liked going near his house, even if they were just passing by.

“Something isn’t right in there, Jean,” she told him the day he dropped off the Elrics at Tucker’s mansion. He was just sticking around for a smoke break before they drove back to Eastern Command, message from the higher ups given and received. But Severine wasn’t happy about the delay. Her tail kept flicking, and she kept pawing at the ground with her hoof, consumed with deep anxiety. 

“I don’t know how Miela can stand it in there,” she fretted, watching the house with as much of a frown as a horse’s face could make. “There’s something in the air that’s wrong, and I don’t want any of ours inside that house.” 

“The colonel sent the kids here for a reason,” Jean pointed out reasonably, lighting up despite Severine’s distressed whinny. “He’s not the kind of CO that would send his people to places they can’t handle. Plus, it’s the chief! If anyone can handle some alchemy gone wrong, it’s got to be the Elrics.” 

She turned that baleful look back at Jean, and — yeah. The thing is, Severine is Jean’s soul. No matter how much rationalising he tried, however much he tried to remember Ed’s spotless mission success record, he was always going to worry. 

“They’re just kids,” Severine murmured. “They shouldn’t have to be there at all.” 

Nothing he could say to that. So Jean just took one last drag of his cigarette and turned back to the car to follow his orders. 

Now, though? He regrets leaving them there all alone, a lot. Because the chief is just a kid, and Al is even younger. Watching them shivering in the rain is god-awful when you know what kind of horrors went on inside the house behind them, and when Mustang brushes them off, Jean has to stuff down the urge to punch him in the face. You could almost call it cold or cruel, but — there’s a rustle of the colonel’s coat and a streak of cream against the rain —

It’s Rhiannon. The colonel’s daemon hates getting wet, absolutely loathes it, but. Well. She tugs Miela out from Alphonse’s gauntlets, gives the shivering dormouse a careful look-over, and gives her a few good nuzzles. Jean’s not too far away; he could hear them murmuring to each other. 

“We’re sorry,” Miela pleads. “We weren’t fast enough, if we’d gotten here early enough, maybe Nina wouldn’t have — We’re sorry Rhiannon, there’s nothing we could do and we’re so sorry —” 

“It’s not your fault.” Rhiannon can be soothing if she wants to be, and sometimes, she’s the only way to tell if the colonel really cares. “We’ll find a way to make this right, but this isn’t your burden to bear, you hear me?” 

Jean wishes he could do more, and he wishes he could stop feeling afraid. But he can’t. Because Shou Tucker is inside his house with a team of medics, half-dead, because the tiny dormouse being comforted by a cat had turned into a tigress not an hour ago, and because the daemon of the kid he calls _chief_ had savaged the son of a bitch who turned his own daughter into a chimaera. 

~ 

The next day, when Jean hears that Scar had murdered the Sewing Life Alchemist, his first thought is _good_. His second thought is _that was a kindness_. 

~

There’s a lot of canine daemons in the military. Sometimes, they’re drawn in by the pack structure; others, like Breda, like the work. He and his greyhound daemon absolutely thrive on the work Mustang gives them: tracking, search and rescue, investigations. The daemons you find in the military are always working breeds built tough and fierce — sheepdogs, hounds, hunting dogs. But then, there are outliers — like Major Armstrong. 

“Lieutenant Jean Havoc!” Armstrong cries when he spots Jean at the train station. “The tragedy that brings me to East City fills my heart with sorrow, but the sight of an old friend’s face does much to alleviate the pain!” 

The next thing Jean knows, the major’s shirt is off and his own boots are suspended two feet above the ground. Lieutenant Colonel Hughes doesn’t even bother helping him out of Armstrong’s very strong arms. He just snickers and starts loading his luggage into the boot of Jean’s car, the traitor.

“Miss Severine!” A sharp squeal, and the major’s daemon barrels out of the station doors on adorably stubby little legs, heading straight to where Severine is waiting by the road. They look hilariously mismatched; Severine is a very tall, very distinguished-looking palomino horse, a horse big and sturdy enough that she could let Alphonse ride her, no problem — and Elfrieda? Well, let’s just say that in fairy tales, the corgi has always been the noble steed of fairies and elves. 

“Elfrieda.” Severine doesn’t look any happier to see the corgi as Jean is to see Elfrieda’s human. “I hope you had a good trip?” 

“It was a good journey on the train, yes, but we were just so devastated to hear about Mr. Tucker and his daughter. The poor child! To think that her own father would do such a thing, and to think that it was the Elrics to have discovered it! I overheard Lieutenant Hawkeye telling Lieutenant Colonel Hughes that it was undoubtedly the devil’s work, and I must say that Alex and I quite agree; no alchemical research could ever be so horrible as that! And then what a horrible coincidence that the criminal Scar should happen upon such an awful scene; hasn’t the little girl suffered enough?” 

The little corgi was running its mouth almost as fast as she was running around Severine; the time away from Central had almost let Jean forget what a chatterbox the major’s daemon could be. Hughes, on the other hand, looks as stressed and worn out as a man who had to spend four hours on the train with both daemon and human. 

“Major Armstrong, we’re on a schedule here? Could you please put Havoc down so he can actually drive us to the scene of the crime?” 

“Oh my!” At the reminder, Armstrong drops him, takes a moment to readjust his clothes, and finally notices his daemon harassing Jean’s. “Frieda!” He thunders. “Please leave Miss Severine alone; we have much business to finish, and it is best served by focus and concentration.” 

That seems to bum Elfrieda out, and she barks twice at Severine in apology before she runs back to her human and jumps into his arms. It doesn’t take long after that to shove them both in the backseat of Jean’s car, and they set off, Severine galloping down the streets behind them. 

Hughes is flipping through the file Havoc brought for him, and when he reaches the medical report on Tucker after the MPs arrive on scene, he whistles, low and begrudgingly impressed. “Miela did this?” He asks, and when Jean nods, Hughes’ face settles on a grimness that isn’t like him. “The Elrics spent a few weeks living with me at Central when Ed was taking his licensing exam, and I never once saw her turn into anything more threatening than an overlarge kitty cat. Well, it’s not like a tiger isn’t an overlarge kitty cat, but I still never expected something like this from Alphonse’s daemon; that boy could never hurt a fly.”

It takes a while for Hughes’ words to register, but when they do, Jean nearly drives them off the road. “_Alphonse’s daemon_? I thought she was Ed’s!”

~

Ed’s earliest memory is still as clear as crystal, even after everything that’s happened since then. In it, he’s pretty sure that he’s two or three; Al is still a baby, the Rockbell are still in Resembool, and it’s the first time that Mom got sick enough to call Uncle Yurey over for a house call. 

Resembool is always a beautiful, green paradise in his memories, and this one is no different. The grass is soft under his tiny feet, the gentle autumn sun warm on his skin, the tree in their yard tall and sturdy. Ed still remembers how it smelled like rain and the sweetness of earth. Geosmin, C12H22O. He knows what it is now, knows the exact chemical and biological processes that result in petrichor. It’s simple science, one of the simple facets of living and dying in a world where other beings live and die. There should be nothing mystical about the smell of the rain, but here in the city, he misses that smell with the deep ache in his chest that leads back to the Gate of Truth. 

“Why do you always keep changing?” He’d asked his daemon curiously. He’s holding her in his cupped hands as she tries out form after form: a dragonfly, a buzzing bee, a hummingbird. 

“Well, how else am I going to find out which one I like the best if I don’t try them on?” 

Ed considers that. “That’s fair,” he allows. “It’s like what Dad says about alchemy — we hafta follow the — the, umm — the scientific method!” 

She turns into a kingfisher, a beetle, a spider. “Exactly! I need to know I’m choosing the right one!” Suddenly, she turns into a monkey, and her rapid change in size makes Ed yelp in alarm. She ignores that, scampering up his shoulders and perching on his head, peering at anything and everything around them with insatiable curiosity. 

“So… do you have a name, like mom’s bird does?” Ed asks. “She calls him Halim. What do I call you?” 

She doesn’t answer, still studying the bark of the tree beside him intently. Ed’s read all about trees in the books from Dad’s study: they’re made of _cel-lu-lose_, (C6H10O5)n. Then they get distracted by the little brown mushrooms growing on one of the tree’s stumps, then by a bunch of rocks covered in a soft moss, and then by the worms they found under those rocks. Then Uncle Yurey and Auntie Sara are leaving, it’s supper time, and then he’s being tucked under the covers, Al’s put to bed, and Ed realises that his daemon never answered him. 

“Hey,” he whispers indignantly, poking his daemon. She’s turned into a kitten for bed, and he could feel her purring on his chest. “You never told me if you have a name. How does that work? Do I give you one?” 

“Does it really matter that much to you?” Her tail flicks out to hit him in the face, and she makes a few cat sounds that’s definitely not a meow and definitely laughing at him. “If you really need to call me something, you can call me Theo.”

**Author's Note:**

> It is the year of our Lord 2019 and I have only just watched FMAB. I am struck by my own idiocy; why did I ever force myself to make do with Naruto when there was much better content in the world??? Now am making up for lost time, and watching all sorts of anime with my dad and let me tell you, watching a sixty-two year-old High Expectations Chinese Dad get hooked on anime is fucking adorable T.T When we’re done with the series I’m introducing him to fan art 
> 
> (But maybe not fanfic) 
> 
> Also, the death of Maes Hughes is 10000% more hurtful if you’re watching it with your own dad


End file.
